He approached the open doorway and looked down into the bowels of the house. The darkness at the bottom of the stairs seemed solid, a brooding night that invited him below, a living blackness that waited to devour. And from the blackness a shape began to emerge.

Bishop could not move. Even when the shape grew larger as it mounted the steps and the strange murmuring came to his ears he stood mesmerized. Even when he could see the wild-staring eyes, the long, dark hair hanging forward almost to her waist, the flow broken by huge bare breasts like boulders in a fast-flowing stream. Even when she was near the top step and curling her hair in big hands, stretching it taut across her chest like a thick rope, the words becoming clearer now as she repeated over and over again, 'All these years . . . all these years . . .'

The woman was real, not a spectral shape like the others. As she emerged from the shadows he saw her body had substance and seemed to grow in its firmness rather than fade. And her murmuring, almost an incantation, told him she was not one of those already dead. He backed away, the deranged look on her face as frightening as the visions he had just witnessed. She stopped before him, her hands constantly twisting and turning the thick cord of hair stretched between them. Her big body was shivering, her plumpness no protection against the seeping coldness of the house. Her eyes rolled away from him, searching for something, and she suddenly wheeled away, shuffling down the corridor towards the room he had just left. Bishop slumped against the wall, his forehead beaded with perspiration that turned icy as soon as it escaped from his pores.

Jessica stood in the doorway of the room and held up her arms to ward off the lumbering woman, but she was grabbed roughly and pushed aside, the woman screaming in rage at the feeble obstruction. Jessica fell heavily and for a moment appeared dazed. Bishop could only watch helplessly as the big woman disappeared into the room and he felt a new dread when Jessica uttered a cry of alarm.

She turned her face towards him, pleading in her eyes. 'Help him, please help him!'

He wanted to run in the opposite direction, wanted to be free of the terrible house, away from the horrors that dwelt inside; but her pleas held him there and would not release him from the madness. He stumbled towards her.

Bishop tried to pull the girl to her feet, but she pushed his hands away and pointed into the room. 'Stop her! Help him, Chris!'

The woman was standing behind Jessica's father, leaning over him, her long dark hair curled around his neck. Her knuckles were white as she pulled in opposite directions.

Kulek's face was flushed red, his sightless eyes straining at their sockets, his tongue unwillingly beginning to protrude from his gaping mouth. A rasping, hissing sound came from his throat as the walls of his trachea were squeezed together. His thin hands were wrapped around the woman's wrists in an effort to pull them apart. Bishop ran forward and grabbed her arms.

It was hopeless; she was too strong, her grip too secure.

The old man's body was arched in the seat and he began to slide forward on to the floor, but the woman maintained her hold on him, keeping him from collapsing completely. Bishop knew he was failing, that Kulek would not survive much longer. His grip on the woman's arms was only relieving the pressure slightly, only prolonging the blind man's agony. Jessica had joined in the struggle now and was tugging at the naked woman, trying to pull her away from her father. But the woman had the strength of the obsessed.

In desperation, Bishop released his hold on the woman, stepped swiftly around to the back of the armchair and kicked her sturdy legs away from under her. She fell almost to her knees, supported by the grip she had on Kulek's throat. Bishop kicked out again, the tip of his shoe sinking into the fleshy side of the woman's stomach. She screamed with the sudden pain, her head swivelling towards Bishop, still keeping the pressure on the blind man's neck. Bishop drew a clenched fist back, then swung it with as much force as possible at the round, upturned face. He felt the small bones of her nose shatter under the impact and her lower face was instantly covered in running blood. Still she would not let go.

He hit her again, again, again. And finally her fingers uncurled, releasing the thick rope of hair. She sank to the floor, swaying there on hands and knees, groaning, shaking her gross body as if to shrug off the pain. Jessica ran to her father who was now lying on the floor on the other side of the chair, gasping for air. The injured woman began crawling forward around the armchair and, for a moment, Bishop thought she was trying to reach Kulek again. But she went by, heading for the open doorway, her movements slow, yet determined. He tried to stop her, grabbing her flowing hair and yanking backwards. She half-turned, sweeping a sturdy arm back and knocking him sideways. Her strength frightened him: from her build, he guessed she was a powerful woman, and now her insanity was increasing that strength. She was halfway out the door when he lunged for her ankle, grabbing it and pulling her back. He was in an awkward position, his body stretched out on the floor, elbows supporting him, face exposed to the sudden kick she dealt him with her free foot.

The blow stunned him and he rolled on to his side, his hand releasing her and going to his head. She began crawling forward again and was soon completely through the doorway and disappearing down the hall. Suddenly he knew where she was making for. And he knew he had to stop her.

But before he could move, a figure had dashed past him into the hall. He pushed himself up and staggered through just in time to see Jessica raise Jacob Kulek's stout walking-stick above her head and bring it crashing down against the crawling woman's head. The sharp crack made Bishop wince, but he was relieved to see the woman collapse into a motionless heap, one arm stretched out towards the open cellar doorway. The darkness there was suddenly obliterated as the door was kicked shut. Jessica leaned against the stairway, the weapon she had used against the woman falling from limp fingers and clattering to the floor. Her eyes met Bishop's and for several moments they could only stare at each other.

9.

All three looked up expectantly when Bishop entered Kulek's private study at the Research Institute.

'Is it Chris?' the old man asked, his head craning forward.

'Yes, Father,' Jessica answered, smiling hesitantly at Bishop, unsure of his grim expression.

'What happened? Are the police still at the house?' Kulek asked.

'They've left a guard outside, that's all.' Bishop sank wearily into a hard-backed chair and rubbed his face with both hands as if to relieve the tension there. He looked across at Edith Metlock. 'Are you all right?'

'Yes, Mr Bishop,' she replied. 'Exhausted but not harmed in any way.'

'You, Jacob?'

'Yes, yes, Chris,' the blind man said a little impatiently. 'My neck feels somewhat tender, but my doctor says nothing was damaged. Some bruising, that's all. Do they know who the woman was?'

The memory of her being carried from the house on a stretcher, her body covered by a thick red blanket, only her face showing, the wide, blank eyes, the constantly moving lips, made Bishop shudder inwardly. Her hair had cascaded over the side of the stretcher, enhancing the madness in her features. Beneath the blanket, heavy straps kept her pinned down.

'A neighbour recognized her when she was taken to the ambulance,' he said. 'She was a nurse or housekeeper to an old man who lived further down the road.'

'But how did she get into Beechwood?'

'The police found a broken window at the back. She must have got in that way. A couple of them went off to see the old man while I was being questioned. Apparently the front door was wide open it didn't take them long to find the old man's body.'

'He was dead?'

'Strangled.'

'With her hair?'

Bishop shook his head. 'They don't know yet. And from the look of her, it'll be a long time before she answers any questions.'

'If she killed the old man in the same manner she tried to kill me, they'll find strands of hair embedded in his throat.'

'Lilith,' Edith Metlock said quietly.

Kulek turned towards her and smiled kindly. 'I don't think so, Edith, not in this case. Just a demented woman.'

Bishop looked at Kulek in puzzlement. 'Who the hell is Lilith?'

'Lilith was an ancient demon,' Kulek said, the smile on his face implying that his words should not be taken too seriously. 'Some say she was the first woman, before Eve, joined back to back with Adam. They quarrelled constantly and, using a cabbalistic charm, she acquired wings and separation from Adam. She flew away.'

Bishop's voice was cold. 'And what has that got to do with this madwoman?'

'Nothing. Nothing at all. Edith was merely comparing their method of slaying. Lilith also used her long hair to strangle her victims, you see.'

Bishop shook his head in exasperation. 'I think this whole business is bizarre enough without dragging mythical demons into it.'

'I quite agree,' Kulek said. 'It was only an observation on Edith's part. Now please tell us what happened back at the house.'

'They ran me through the mill after they let you go. They were very curious to know exactly what we were doing there.'

'No, all that is not important. I had already informed the local police station that we would be there today with Miss Kirkhope's permission. All they needed to do was check.'

'They did that, all right. But they still wanted to know what a naked madwoman was doing in Beechwood. Finding the dead man in the other house didn't improve their disposition towards me.'

'I'm sure you explained everything adequately . . .'

'I tried to, but they'll be calling on you later. It was only because you and Mrs Metlock obviously needed medical attention that they let Jessica take you both away.'

'Chris, the house . . . what did you see?' Kulek's impatience was growing.

Bishop looked around in wonder at the other occupants of the study. 'I saw the same as Jessica and Mrs Metlock,' he said to Kulek.

'I saw nothing, Chris,' Jessica said. She was standing by the window behind her father's desk.

'Nor I, Mr Bishop,' said the medium. 'I . . . blacked out.'

'But that's crazy! You were both there in the room.'

Jessica spoke. 'I heard Edith scream, and I followed you downstairs. I tried to help you when you collapsed in the room. I knew you were seeing something you were terrified but, believe me, I couldn't see anything. I wish to God I had. All I know is that you seemed to be having some kind of fit, then you rushed from the room and made for the cellar. I saw the woman come from there she was real enough.'

Bishop's head swung towards the medium. 'As a sensitive you must have had the same vision.'

'I think I may have caused the vision,' Edith Metlock said calmly. 'You see, I believe I was used by them.'

'You called up the dead?'

'No, I was receptive to them, that's all. They manifested themselves through me.'

Bishop shook his head. 'That's fine if you believe in ghosts.'

'What would you call them?'

'Vibrations. Electro-magnetic images. Jacob knows my theory on such phenomena. An electro-cardiograph shows the heart giving off electrical impulses; I believe someone under stress does the same. And those impulses are picked up later by someone like you, someone sensitive to such impulses.'

'But you saw them, not me.'

'Telepathy. You were the receiver; you transmitted those visions to me.'

Jessica cut in. 'Then why weren't Edith's thoughts transmitted to me? Why didn't I see them?'

'And why not me?' Kulek said. 'If they were only telepathic thoughts from Edith, then why didn't I see them in my mind's eye?'

'And why were you so afraid?' Jessica put in.

'Maybe I didn't actually see anything at all.' They all looked quizzically at Bishop. 'It could be that I just remembered what I'd seen before in that house. Mrs Metlock may have triggered off something in my subconscious, something so horrible I'd been trying to keep it from myself. And if any of you had experienced it, you'd have been afraid.'

'And the woman?' said Jessica. 'Why was she in the house?'

'She was hiding, for God's sake! She'd killed the old man. She knew Beechwood was empty, so she hid there.'

'But why did she try to kill my father? Why not you? Me?'

'Perhaps she just hates men of your father's age,' Bishop said in frustration. 'Men like her own employer.'

'She went straight to him. She hadn't even seen Jacob, but she went past us both to get to him.'

'She could have heard his voice from the cellar.'

'Yes, the cellar, Chris. You felt it too, didn't you?'

'Felt what?'

'Felt there was something evil in that cellar.'

Bishop rubbed a hand across his eyes. 'I just don't know. It all seems so insane now.'

'Chris, you still haven't told us what you saw or what, as you would have it, you remembered,' Kulek said quietly.

Angry though she was over the investigator's refusal to accept the reality of what had happened inside Beechwood, Jessica wanted to comfort him when his face became pale.

It was seconds before he spoke, and the words came out dull and flat as if he were deliberately holding back his emotions, afraid he would lose control of them. He described the scene at Beechwood, the mad, perverted suicides, the cruel slayings. Jessica felt the muscles inside her stomach knot into a tight ball. When he had finished, there was a heavy silence in the room. Jacob Kulek's sightless eyes were closed, Edith Metlock's could not look away from Bishop's face. At last, the blind man opened his eyes and said, 'They tried to die in the foulest way possible. They had to.'

Bishop frowned. 'You think there was a motive behind all this?'

Kulek nodded. 'There is always a motive for suicide and murder. Even the insane have their reasons.'

'Suicides usually want to free themselves from the troubles of life.'

'Or the restrictions.'

Bishop was puzzled by Kulek's remark Jessica had talked of death as some kind of release before but he felt too drained to pursue it. 'Whatever the motives were, it won't matter after tomorrow. The house will no longer be there.'

They were startled. 'What do you mean?' Kulek asked apprehensively.

'I rang Miss Kirkhope before coming here,' Bishop replied. 'I told her there was nothing in the house except a cold atmosphere and recommended she carry out her plan for demolition as soon as possible. She said, that being the case, she would bring the date forward to tomorrow.'

'How could you . . .?' Jessica said, furious.

'Chris, you don't know what you have done!' Kulek was on his feet.

'Perhaps he is right.' Jessica and her father turned to Edith Metlock in surprise. 'Perhaps the demolition of Beechwood will free their poor souls. I believe the house and everything that has happened there is holding them to this world. Now they may be free to go on.'

Jacob Kulek sank back into his chair and slowly shook his head. 'If only that were so,' was all he could say.

10.

'Lucy died three days after her fifth birthday.'

The words were spoken without emotion, as though Bishop had cut himself off from the sadness that went with them. But below, somewhere inside where only he could touch, the pain fed upon itself, weaker now, yet still a living thing, a slow-dying disease of grief. Jessica, walking by his side through the cold London park, remained silent. The physical gap between them somehow symbolized their mutual antagonism, an antagonism that had frequently abated then reared into bitter life again in the few days she had known him. Now, hearing him speak of his daughter, she wanted that gap closed, yet she could not find it in herself to move closer.

Bishop paused to stare into the grey lake, the ducks tucked in close to its edges as if even they found its sombre expanse unwelcoming. 'Laryngotracheo-bronchitis was the indirect cause,' he said, still not looking at Jessica. When I was a kid, we called it croup. Her throat closed up, she couldn't breathe. It took us a long time to convince the doctor to leave his warm bed to come and see her that night even in those days there were many who were unwilling to make house calls. It took three phone calls, the second threatening, the third begging, for him to come. Maybe it would have been better if he hadn't.'

Jessica stood beside him, watching his profile. The heavy cloth of her overcoat brushed against his arm.